


What He Would Always Remember

by WritinginCT



Series: Waiting For You [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-28
Updated: 2009-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritinginCT/pseuds/WritinginCT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had traveled far and wide and seen some of the most spectacular sights on Earth. And since stepping through the Stargate he had seen even more absolutely amazing things. But in his heart the most beautiful things Cam remembered were much, much closer to home.</p><p>Note: This is an independent piece- but it ties to my fic "Waiting For You" which is my personal Sam/Cam canon.<br/>Warning for character death (natural age related)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Would Always Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Waiting For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/65576) by [WritinginCT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritinginCT/pseuds/WritinginCT). 



He had traveled far and wide and seen some of the most spectacular sights on Earth. And since stepping through the Stargate he had seen even more absolutely amazing things. But in his heart the most beautiful things Cam remembered were much, much closer to home. 

When Sam walked towards him at a stately pace in a white dress, it wasn't the dress that was beautiful. Nor was it the elegant bouquet she carried. No, what he would always remember was the veil softened view of her same playful little smile that he had fallen in love with way back when they were kids and her hair was in pigtails.

When they pitched a tent in the middle of the mountainside acreage he bought so they could plan out the house he intended to build for them, it wasn't the misty dawn breaking over the mountain that was beautiful. Nor was it the grassy hillside with its babbling brook nearby. No, what he would always remember was the sight of Sam with her hair in complete disarray wearing his flannel shirt, and only his flannel shirt, as she held out a steaming mug of coffee as he stepped out of the tent.

When a three-year old boy had been found as the only survivor in an off world village decimated by virulent disease, it wasn't the sight of Sam sleeping in a hard infirmary chair next to his bed that was beautiful. Nor was it the ferocious way she defended that child to the IOA. No, what he would always remember was the sight of Sam cuddling with the scared little boy that was now their son in his grandma's antique rocking chair as she read him her favorite fairy tales the very first night they brought him home.

When they had been trying unsuccessfully to conceive a child of their own to grow their little family, it wasn't the sight of two pink lines finally in the test window that was beautiful. Nor was it the happy tears streaming down Sam's cheeks that matched the ones on his own. No, what he would always remember was the sight of his hand holding Sam's hair as she threw up in spectacular fashion as her pregnancy asserted itself.

When he almost lost Sam and his daughter during that pregnancy, it wasn't the sight of Sam finally waking up in that hospital bed that was beautiful. Nor was it the relieved expression on the doctor's face as he was told that both mother and daughter would both be okay. No, what he would remember was the sight of two heartbeat monitors side by side, both beating steady and strong.

When they laid his father to rest in full military pomp, it wasn't the sight of the flag draping his father's coffin that was beautiful. Nor was it the the jets screaming by overhead in formation. No, what he would remember was the sight of his wife in her dress blues sitting next to his mother holding her hand and giving her silent strength.

When they stood in the airport terminal waiting with their son for his flight to Egypt to spend the summer on a dig following in his favorite adopted uncle's footsteps, it wasn't his son's obvious enthusiasm that was beautiful. Nor was it the confident way the young man held his bag and ticket as he was about to embark on his first solo adventure. No, what he would always remember was the sight of Sam traumatizing their teenager as only a mother could by wiping off the lipstick on his cheek from her kiss goodbye with a tissue fished out of her purse.

When they attended graduation at the Academy and listened to their daughter give the valedictorian address, it wasn't the sea of graduates in their crisp uniforms listening intently that was beautiful. Nor was it the eloquent speech about honor and sacrifice and growing up among heroes that she gave. No, what he would always remember was how much like both of them she was when she crisply saluted him after the ceremony but followed it up with a little wink when her mother wasn't looking.

When the program went public and Sam was finally able to publish papers and be appropriately recognized for her scientific breakthroughs, it wasn't the steady stream of scientific periodicals pouring in bearing her picture on the cover that was beautiful. Nor was it the fancy ceremony in Stockholm where she was awarded a Nobel prize that should have been hers years ago. No, what he would always remember was the pure joy of sharing her passion that was evident on her face as he watched her with the kids in the after school science club she founded with her award proceeds.

When they became grandparents for the first time, it wasn't the sight of the newest of his girls that was beautiful. Nor was it the fancy family photo that the girls browbeat the menfolk into having taken to commemorate. No, what he would always remember was the view in the middle of the night of Sam sitting on the couch humming a familiar lullaby with the new baby snuggled to her chest asleep as she gently stroked the hair of their exhausted daughter who had put her head in her mother's lap for just a moment and promptly fallen asleep herself.

When they buried O'Neill, it wasn't the prestigious, political funeral befitting a general that was beautiful. Nor was it the seeming endless public eulogizing of a genuine hero. No, what he would always remember was SG-1 gathering at Jack's cabin to scatter Jack's ashes in a private, heartfelt moment that instead honored the man himself and not his uniform or deeds.

When he heard an odd clattering in the kitchen and shuffled out there leaning heavily on his cane, it wasn't the new fangled oven scattered in a thousand pieces that was beautiful. Nor was it the stream of curses coming from her that he blamed on her spending way too much time with Marines in the past. No, what he would always remember was seeing his wife of forty-five years standing there with a screwdriver in one gnarled, arthritic hand and the bruised index finger of the other hand stuck in her mouth looking for all the world like she had when they had been nine and got caught taking apart her father's lawnmower.

It was that moment that he clung to four days later when he found that she had passed from this life to the next in her sleep. He lay back down beside her and let the slide show of their lives play out behind his eyelids. And his last memory as he willed himself to join her was of the moment a pig-tailed Sam first smiled at his nine-year-old self and he had fallen head over heels in love with his best friend.

\---------------  
the end.


End file.
